


These Foolish Feelings

by beriallen



Category: Gugudan (Band), I.O.I (Band), K-pop, Korean Actor RPF
Genre: F/F, F/M, Talents for Sale, Welcome Show
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-18
Updated: 2017-03-18
Packaged: 2018-10-07 04:33:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10352340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beriallen/pseuds/beriallen
Summary: Sejeong let out a breath. “How can anyone be so sure of anything?”Chungha swallowed, and finally answered, “I don’t know.”It was the night before the first filming of her show, and Sejeong was confused. About the show, about Chungha, about the older man she was about to meet and, most importantly, about herself.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This story includes references to episodes 1, 11, 12 & 16 of now-defunct variety, "Talents for Sale" or also known as "Welcome Show," and features a bicurious Sejeong.

 

 

 

It was dark in the room and Sejeong lay awake on her bed, listening to the slow breathing of the others as they sunk deeper into sleep. And then there was nothing else; no whirring noise of a remote-controlled camera, not even the usual late-night notification ringtone, nothing. She couldn’t see the clock, much less tell the time, but she figured it was already well after midnight. She had an early start tomorrow morning. She really should try to sleep.

She climbed down from her bed instead.

“Nayoung unnie sleeps like a log,” Chungha told the whole group once, and she was right. When Sejeong slipped into the room where Mina, Chungha and Nayoung were sleeping, the latter didn’t even stir. Sejeong stood on her toes and took a peek at a sleeping Mina on the top bunk and snorted a little at her fluttering eyelids and gaping mouth. While Chungha—

Sejeong could spot the tiny movements of Chungha’s legs as they moved under the blanket. When Sejeong approached the bed, Chungha merely looked up, as if the other girl knew she was coming all along. As if Chungha was already expecting her.

Chungha scooted over to make room and threw off her blanket. At that, Sejeong got into the bed immediately, settling herself beside Chungha. The sheet was warm underneath her, but she covered herself with Chungha’s blanket nevertheless.

There was a quiet sigh coming out of her before she turned sideways to face Chungha, all awake and bright-eyed. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep?” Chungha whispered, as a way of greeting.

When the offer first came in, everyone in Sejeong’s agency told her that it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. The well-suited gentlemen from the marketing department were threateningly convincing. “The superstar of the group with her very own variety show!” they exclaimed. “Before her debut!” They said she would have been stupid not to say yes. Her members from both groups were chattering about how lucky she was. Her mother stroke her hair calmly and told her, “Whatever makes you happy, Sejeong-ah.”

The thing is, this was something new altogether. Not just her; but the show, the audience, the concept. This was probably the worst idea.

“What if I ruin everything?” Sejeong muttered, then. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and she caught sight of Chungha’s lips as they curled upward. “I’m sure you’ll do great!” convinced Chungha. “Amazing, even!”

Sejeong let out a breath. “How can anyone be so sure of anything?”

Chungha didn’t reply to that, letting silence take over instead. And perhaps because the quietness that gravitated around them was so welcoming, that it took some time for both of them to realize that they were no longer talking about a TV show, or whether or not Sejeong would do well at the filming the next day.

Sejeong set her left hand beside her pillow mindlessly, and her breath caught a little when her palm, somehow, found its way on top of Chungha’s. The air was cold all of a sudden, and there was something resembling an instinct that made Sejeong wrap her fingers around the other girl’s, and she blinked as Chungha softly squeezed her hand back.

Sejeong fixed her gaze at Chungha again, only to find herself staring back at her friend’s narrowed eyes. There were creases on Chungha’s forehead as she swallowed, and finally answered. “I don’t know.”

That night, Sejeong and Chungha fell asleep holding hands.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

To define the backstage as chaotic would not be far from the truth. The show’s first online broadcast was about to go live in a few hours, and the PDs were busy shouting instructions over a crowd of stylists and managers. All the girls could talk about in their dressing room, though, was the filming earlier in the day. It didn’t even matter to them that Sejeong only played a small part in it.

“How was it?” Mina asked; her eyes went wide at the end of her sentence.

Sejeong gave a shrug; a thoughtless one, offered out of habit. She didn’t plan her reply either. “Lee Seojin sunbaenim is handsome.”

Mina let out a yelp, as the others threw a chorus of teases her way. “Well, that came out of nowhere,” one of the girls who stood at the back commented.

The truth is, it shocked her more than anyone.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sejeong hated the phrase so much: “Daddy issues.” As if a decision someone—her father—made on his own accord could and would affect her choices for the rest of her life.

Then again, she found it difficult to find another phrase to describe what currently went on with her, inside her.

Lee Seojin had always been a mere name for her; the one she knew, albeit distantly. A face plastered on posters or the pages of magazines. A character who dwelled behind the glass panel of her family’s old TV. He was always there, but never real.

That changed when she finally met him, although he was no more real than the others; Kim Jongkook and Noh Hongchul, too, were names and faces with whom she had been familiar in the past. And because she was her and nobody else, it didn’t take long for her to be genuinely fond of them. Her brother once told her that she liked people too much; “It’s a weakness, Sejeong-ah,” he warned her.

She remembered exactly how and when Seojin somehow became more real than the others. She couldn’t remember who first started the conversation, she remembered they were talking about dishes to eat, she couldn’t remember when or why the topic shifted. And the mic picked up Seojin’s voice.

“Would you like me to tell you the story of how my father beat me with his golf stick?”

She remembered it was summer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sejeong spent her last night at the I.O.I dorm with the girls, ordering all sorts of late-night snacks, devouring them in a manner that would have earned a squint of disapproval from the managers.

Yoojung and Somi were leading the others in a song when Sejeong felt a subtle nudge on her left arm. She tilted her head to the side and waited as Chungha’s lips leaned closer toward her ear; Sejeong could feel the other girl’s breath as it grazed her temple. “I’ll miss this,” Chungha sighed, “you.”

Sejeong chuckled a little at that, and whispered back to Chungha. “I’m going to miss you more,” she said in a hushed tone. “You can always see me on the show, if you want.”

From the corner of her eye, Sejeong caught a smirk from Chungha. “I almost forgot about that,” she muttered between her teeth. “Thanks for the reminder.”

Sejeong swallowed slowly, and tried to wonder what it meant.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The trainers at her agency put a camera on a tripod and placed it in front of the rehearsal room. “Don’t ever tell our CEO I tell you this, but when you sing and dance, your eyes have to make love to the camera,” they said. Hyeyeon laughed out of embarrassment, then laughed even more because she was embarrassed about how loud her previous laugh was. “Okay, not that,” the trainers continued. “Flirt! Flirt with the camera!”

Sejeong figured out the rest on her own.

Like how to pretend not to notice when a man couldn’t stop stealing glances at her. How to toss her hair back in a way that would expose her neck. How to nonchalantly fix the hems of her short shorts while completely being aware of the man walking behind her.

“Seojin hyung has no shame,” Jongkook said in one episode. “He stares.”

Sejeong figured that out on her own too.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When Sejeong arrived with Mina and Yeonjung at their hotel in Los Angeles a day later than the others, she found the city to be unexpectedly, well, quiet. Not to say Los Angeles disappointed her in any way; on the contrary, it was beyond anything she had ever imagined. But the other girls were still out somewhere, while she, Mina and Yeonjung were too exhausted—and had very little confidence in their English—to do some exploring for now.

Sejeong lounged on her bed, her thumb involuntarily brushing the edges of her phone. Her agency let her and Mina take their phones with them and they promised to take a lot of pictures of the city as a sign of gratitude.

Rather, Sejeong unlocked her phone, and began sending a message.

When Chungha entered Sejeong’s room less than half an hour later, her face had been turned reddish by Los Angeles’ sunlight. “Sejeong-ah!” she called out, beaming. “You’re here!”

For some reason, she took Sejeong by surprise. Chungha continued talking about a meet-up in Nayoung’s room, but Sejeong only gasped at the other girl’s direction, with her fingers pressed on the screen of her phone.

“Sure, I’ll just read this one email first,” Sejeong managed, finally. She chewed on her lower lip, buying herself some time she didn’t realize she needed. There was a tinge of guilt that was sourced from a place she couldn’t identify. “I asked Lee Seojin sunbaenim about some English words.”

Sejeong watched as Chungha blinked. Once, twice. “I know English too, you know.”

Her reply came out as a mumble. “I know.”

Chungha left for Nayoung’s room without waiting for her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sejeong honestly believed her agency let her have a night out with the men because they were too intimidated by Seojin and Jongkook to decline the invitation. That, or they just didn’t want her to be depressed about the show’s cancellation.

Either way, she wasn’t going to let a chance to drink until late go to waste.

It was supposed to be their farewell get-together, although it was held two weeks before their last filming. Jongkook said that this one was meant just for the four of them, and they would have another farewell event with the rest some time later. Hongchul raised a glass of beer, “Here’s to season two!” Seojin waved him off, “No, I’m not going to do another show with you!” Sejeong laughed so hard, she spat her drink out.

It was way past eleven when Jongkook, who didn’t drink, had to walk Hongchul, who couldn’t stand straight, to the bathroom, leaving Sejeong alone with Seojin. She already had too much and she could almost feel her blood rushing to her cheeks. Seojin was murmuring something about how his hangover had a hangover. This wouldn’t be the last time that all four of them would meet; they still had to film the final episode in two weeks’ time, but it sure felt like the end. She had too much already.

“Did you ever forgive him?”

It just slipped out of her, the question. Sure, she had thought about asking it for the last few months, but she never thought the question would materialize. But then, it did.

“What’s that?”

Sejeong fancied a version of a reply that would go something like, “My thoughts exactly.” But the non-imaginary version of her reply was less restrained. “Your father,” she blurted out. “You see, mine was—”

Seojin cut her off short. “I know,” he said, coughing up his words as fast as he gulped his drink. “And the answer is yes.”

The bar they were at belongs to Jongkook’s friend. Or was it Hongchul’s friend? Sejeong forgot already. The owner let them occupy the empty second floor, reserved for celebrity patrons only. Sejeong stopped to listen to the muted tinkling of glasses from one floor below; somewhere behind her, Jongkook was rapping on the bathroom door. Seojin knocked down a couple of bottles as he hurriedly tried to pour himself another shot.

“How?” she asked, cautiously, feebly. She ran her tongue over her lips, taking in the aftertaste of the soju she had earlier in the night. Her eyelids felt heavy as she waited for a response, and she squinted at Seojin who swallowed and averted his gaze abruptly.

He cleared his throat before he could go on. “Well,” he started, focusing on his forefinger as it circled the rim of his glass. “I learned that forgiving is one thing, and hating is another thing.”

He offered nothing else, but he didn’t have to. Sejeong gave a slow nod at that, and took a long breath before closing her eyes.

Sejeong reached her dorm a little before 1 AM. She was mostly drunk, but sober enough to halt at the gates, turn around and look back at the car that drove her home. The windows were rolled down, revealing the three men inside it: Hongchul at the back, Jongkook in the driver’s seat and Seojin beside him. They bade her goodbye and she waved at them.

This wasn’t the last time, but it sure felt like the end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Between debuts, comebacks, showcases and variety appearances, the conversation between I.O.I members mainly occurred in their group chat or emails. Sometimes it would take two months before someone wrote a new message—the email subject line would resemble something, like, “Ya!” or “Ang!”—but the exchanges would flow seamlessly before it would stop. Then the whole process would be repeated in two months.

Just like that, Chungha’s name became Hangul characters among a wall of texts.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The last email she sent to the three men consisted of an apology for not being able to win the Variety Rookie award for them, for the show. For not being able to thank them personally in a victory speech.

Jongkook was quick to reply because he was always on his phone. In a message that was as long-winded as his speaking habit, he talked about being upset that Sejeong felt the need to apologize, a sentiment that was shared with Hongchul who was the next to respond.

Seojin was the last to chime in, as expected. “You’re a real fairy, Sejeong-ah,” he wrote, briefly.

Sejeong didn’t know what or how to react to that.

She never answered back.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It took them forever to decide the date of the annual reunion; it was either 10 January or 1 October, schedule permitting. Yoojung came up with the brightest idea: “Why not both?” The others agreed to that in no time.

Sometime around the beginning of the fall, Sejeong, Mina and all Gugudan members had earned their phones back. In I.O.I's group chat, Sejeong sent a thumbs-up emoji to Sohye’s suggestion to have the reunion at her café.

On the first day of October, Sejeong stood at the entrance of the café, gesturing for Mina to go inside first. Instead of following Mina, Sejeong paused to look up as if she already knew what she would find there: Chungha, smiling at her through one of the opened windows on the second floor. She remembered the times they all spent there and smiled back, feeling relieved at the familiarity of it all. At the fact that nothing changed, not really.

Her phone rang suddenly, and the sound, coupled with the vibration, made Sejeong jump in surprise. Chungha, who witnessed everything, cackled so hard, and Sejeong had to shoot a playful glare her way. “Hey, I’m still getting used to it,” she shouted, although she wasn’t sure she was heard, since Chungha turned her back and moved away from the window so abruptly. Sejeong suspected that Chungha was already busy telling the others about what just happened and how embarrassing it was.

She rolled her eyes and picked up the call. “Sejeong-ssi,” the voice on the other end called out.

She glimpsed at the screen of her phone and beamed when she recognized the caller’s name. “Oh, PD-nim!” she said. “I have a phone now!”

A laugh. “I’m aware,” came the reply afterward. “Your manager thought I should tell you the news myself, so he told me to contact you directly.”

“Tell me what?” she asked, frowning. “Are you still working at KBS?”

“I am!” Sejeong took a closer listen, then, and sensed his elated tone, the excited chuckle that seemed to accompany his sentence. “And the network is letting us do season two!” he resumed, eagerly.

Someone inside the building screamed out her name, telling her to come in immediately.

Over the phone, the voice went, “Sejeong-ssi.”

The PD continued talking, but she couldn’t really make out his words; she only noticed a few phrases here and there. “Seojin hyung won’t do it without you.”

Sejeong realized that she was right: Nothing changed, not really. This time, though, the fact didn’t make her smile anymore.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

End.


End file.
